


so full of love I could barely eat

by orphan_account



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Martin is a vampire :), consensual vampire bites slash drinking your partners blood, literally ehat do i tag this. I am gay i have a thing for vampires what more do you want from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24159088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: But right now, Martin is starved. And clearly a bit lightheaded judging by the way he's staring into his kitchen drying rack. So, back on track."Martin." "Hm?""You're still hungry, yes?"That gets his attention.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Johnathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 182





	so full of love I could barely eat

**Author's Note:**

> can be read as no powers/post canon/or whatever. I am just. I am just sitting here.
> 
> ooc vampire!martin/jon moment because canon is nothing to my little brain who can only write for 2 (and maybe 3 if he's feeling generous) characters at a time. meaning no original work just projection. sorry about that. I just wanted to write some vampire shit. 
> 
> this is?? a bit horny luv not gonna lie. Not capital H horny but. Vampire Bites And People (me) Who Are Into That, you know how it is. 
> 
> no editing just post :)

Weak and lethargic, Martin closes the door of his flat behind him. It had been, well. He couldn't say for sure the exact amount of time it had been, but he hadn't fed in what could've been ages, for all he knew. Every step had been draining, and he's too tired to even acknowledge the unintentional pun. His tongue feels heavy, and the muscles in his face are so lax he's not sure how he even got through the work day at the institute as anything resembling human. He's never been more grateful for his job's very forgiving schedule, and the fact that he works on the very bottom floor. Calling in sick only works for so long when you can't actually go outside to the doctor's. 

He brushes the back of his knuckles vaguely against the lightswitch to his left, trying once, twice, and making it. Not that he needs it now, not really. It's more force of habit than anything. 

In the back of his mind he recognizes that his flat is cold, or, probably. Something had happened with the heating over the weekend, which he had heard about from Jon the last time he was over. But he doesn't notice. Either his undead nature had stripped him of some of the finer sensory experiences, or he was too hungry to pay it much mind. Both are equally likely, he muses. The former would almost be welcomed. It would certainly save him on earplugs.

And the ache in his body is constant, pressing. Being recently turned made things...difficult. His appetites were unpredictable, and when feeding became a need and not a want… when the faint scratching at the back of his mind went from picking at, to biting his lip, to a hunger curdled in the back of his throat that made him want to stand up and punch the wall. To eat. Or bolt. The hunger that made him scratch at his skin and stumble around all day. Wanting. 

When feeding became a need… 

He had some ways of dealing with it. 

First was to always call up Daisy. Or rather, text Jon, and have him call up Daisy. Much as he disapproved of her hunting methods, she'd been turned for longer, and always found truly awful men, people Martin found it hard to have much pity for. Even as he drained them of everything that sustained their being. 

That didn't mean he would be happy about it. Jon and Daisy had always been much closer, so he always trusted him to handle those calls. Was it avoiding responsibility at the risk of confronting your own monstrous nature? Maybe. But Daisy was truly intimidating. A proper creature of the night. And if she happened to have a soft spot for Jon? All the better for all of them.

So, with a sigh, Martin responds to Jon's 'no luck, sorry' with 'that's alright. I understand. Thank you for asking.'

If, and when Daisy's catch of the month turned out to be bust, there was his second option. 

Jon  
Do you want me to come over?

Me  
If you're not busy  
I'm really grateful for the offer, by the way

Jon  
Martin, surely by now you should know me well enough to know that I never have plans. Certainly not on Thursday nights.  
And of course, it's the least I can do.  
You don't have to be so apologetic every time.

Me  
I know, Jon. thank you  
and you're not that much of an old man! you could be over at georgie's!!!  
actually, I take that back  
your typing style says otherwise 

Jon  
">:("  
That's what the millennials are typing these days, right.

Me  
Your dedication to correct punctuation is admirable  
and you're welcome over 

Jon  
Great, c u in 15 :)

Me  
>:/  
See you soon Jon, love you x

Traffic held him back, but Jon doesn't apologize for the delay. Doesn't stand awkwardly at the door. He knocks, Martin lets him in, and they put the kettle on. 

They stand side by side in Martin's kitchen, and Jon thinks. Nothing overly coherent mind. He just watches, really. He's busy caught up in Martin's eyes, and on his stubble covered chin. Thick hands, and now-sharp teeth that peek out from behind his lips occasionally when he speaks. His neck, exposed. Jon's not the one dependent on living off of other people's blood. He doesn't know what it's like to be the one whose teeth lay claim to the flesh and veins of another's neck, needing. But looking at Martin's throat, he thinks he might understand the urge.

It's a little chilly in Martin's flat, and Jon tugs his jumper closer around him.

Not that he needs it much now. Despite the cold, he's starting to feel a bit warm. 

Martin's in an old pair of joggers, socked feet on his wooden floor, keeping up conversation. Occasionally he'll laugh nervously at his own dumb joke, eyeing Jon as he stands and watches. It's all so intimate, the yellow in the kitchen lights reflecting in his mussed hair and face as they share a drink. Something non-caffeinated. Martin had said something about that once: blood taste and caffeine. Jon hadn't quite been listening, he'd been too caught up in watching Martin speak. 

Like right now. Jon wants to reach out and hold him. Touch him. Something. Like Martin is a flower that he wants to pick. 

It's silly. Romantic. Martin would probably like it. 

Instead of voicing that particularly embarrassing thought, he remembers why he's here. He doesn't need to use circumstances like these as an excuse to be around Martin anymore. Probably never did, looking back on it. But right now, Martin is starved. And clearly a bit lightheaded judging by the way he's staring into his kitchen drying rack. So, back on track.

"Martin." "Hm?"

"You're still hungry, yes?"

That gets his attention. 

"Oh Jon I er, well. Yes. Sorry got a bit…"

Jon laughs "Distracted?" Martin's smile is fond.

"Yeah." 

Martin's eyes sharpen, slightly, as he continues. "You ready?"

Jon just nods, heart caught in his throat.

"Alright just...just give me one moment. I'd like to put the mugs away. Make yourself at home", he murmurs, taking Jon's cup. 

'Make yourself at home.' Is something Jon doesn't need to be told. Having been to Martin's flat and stayed over often. Having monopolized Martin's kettle, collapsed on Martin's couch. In Martin's bed…

But he appreciates it every time, more than he can put to words. It's always nice to feel wanted.

The couch is inviting and so he sits, nerves and something a bit more pleasant making him shake.

When Martin is wrapped up in the kitchen, he makes his way over to Jon, water overflowed from the sink staining the middle of his shirt. From leaning against the counter while washing dishes, no doubt. Jon is pathetically endeared, and rises to meet him. 

"Peckish?" 

Martin scrunches up his face at that. 

"I'd like it if heartwarming and tender moments with my loving partner weren't spoiled by him using vocabulary like 'peckish'. Word m'kes me think of angry pigeons."

"Hm." Jon brings his hands up to cup Martin's face between his hands. With an inhale, Martin shuts eyes, allowing Jon to stand on the tips of his toes and kiss him on the brow. "I suppose that's fair. 

You… you really are exhausted, aren't you."

Martin looks up with an expression that is surely meant to convey some configuration of "duh" and "well what are you going to do about it", shoulders drooping a bit.

"Martin." "Hmn."  
Jon bites down a smile as he looks over Martin's face, "Martin, you're still hungry?". 

Once again, that does it. Martin jerks up, wide awake now, focus entirely on him. Martin's grip has tightened a bit around Jon's waist, but he doesn't mind. He knows that even starved for blood, Martin would never hurt him. And that he would never let Martin get to that point. 

Jon's eyes flit to Martin's lips, and then back up to his eyes. Asking permission. Martin just nods. 

They kiss. Chaste, at first. 

And then it's not. 

And Martin is still so, so wanting.

Searching, Martin looks Jon over. The 'is this okay?' goes unsaid, but when Jon nods "yes", his voice hoarse, Martin has his answer. So he begins. 

"Jon," he says, stepping toward him slightly. And Jon shivers, the compulsion sinking in. "come here please. Sit on the couch with me." And his voice sounds wonderful. A honey slow pressure that starts at the top of his head, and makes him glide on shaky limbs as he follows. He feels safe. He could stay like this, warm all over and wrapped in Martin's voice forever. He wouldn't want of nothing. 

Martin leads, taking care to sit down so that Jon will have room. "Will you sit on my lap, like this, hm?" Martin takes him in his lap, his knees wrapped around Martin's thighs. Face to face again. There's a certain anticipation to it. More so now, with hot breath on his neck. 

Running his hands up and down Jon's arms, placed on his chest, Martin smiles sweetly up into Jon's glazed over eyes. Presses a kiss to his cheek.

"So beautiful, you know that right? You're so, so beautiful. Handsome. " Martin whispers as he pushes the hair back from his face. Jon makes a keening noise, leans into the touch. 

"Mm. Can you tilt your neck this way, for me?" He demonstrates, Jon complies. "So pretty, such a pretty neck." 

"Mmhg" 

"Yes, I know kochanie, just hold still. Here now." 

Martin's nose is against his collarbone now, his breaths coming even and warm against Jon's still clothed chest. He kisses the hollow of his neck.

"Lean down a bit for me?" Jon does, and Martin takes his bite.

It's hard to keep still against the pain and heat, so Jon doesn't even try. Martin's hands dig into his back and shoulder, holding him in place as his blood flows freely. He's woozy and delirious with it. His eyes are blurred, and shapes aren't so much made out as felt. He can see Martin though. Martin's hair. He takes a deep breath, inhaling his shampoo or conditioner or cologne or whatever it is. (Nothing, though maybe a bit of shampoo from yesterday, the answer makes itself known in his mind. Whether it's an answer he's come to on his own, or something Martin felt was worth sharing while he was in this state, It didn't much matter. Martin's hair smells great, regardless.)

Every so often Martin will hold still to lick at the punctures on his neck, only to continue again. Not any gentler, sweeter. No, that wouldn't be possible. But with a kiss to his adam's apple and more delicate words. 

Through it all, Jon whines and shakes. It's too much. Too good. The hum of Martin's mind in his own. The palpable feeling of being wanted, needed, as Martin lays another kiss on his neck. 

When Martin no longer looks on the verge of collapse, and Jon about there himself, Martin pulls back and licks over the remaining blood. Kisses the marks that will heal soon. 

"Thank you, Jon." Martin murmurs into his neck. A contented "hm." Is all he can manage back. 

And so they sit. Holding each other as they doze off, no sun for them to bathe in.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
